


a game of war

by milo_the_fish



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, I've Been Playing Solitaire My Whole Life, So Wilbur Gets My Perspective, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 16:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milo_the_fish/pseuds/milo_the_fish
Summary: Wilbur thinks upon solitaire, cards, and his little brother.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64
Collections: SBI Fics to Make Sebbie Cry





	a game of war

Skill in solitaire, which elders always refrain from telling, is not the ability to complete the game quickly, but to know when the cards that you've been dealt will not allow a completion. It is the ability to look at what you've placed, running through every singular possibility and move, and then deciding in a split second if this game would result in that satisfying pile of chronological faces and numbers. It's what pulls Wilbur's fascination, when he finds the cards in the afterlife, the fact that he could complete the games, but those games that result in a loss would take him forever to realize. He would continue to flip through the cards, confused with a new move, even consulting his half sober companions about possible cards to place. He never realized the skill it takes to understand the game, always used to the idea of it being a game of just matching opposites and winning without thought. 

He hadn't realized that the game he started would have any means of skill, considering it's a game associated with the elderly or bored children. It isn't supposed to engage the brain in the way something like poker or war would do, it was just a calm matching game. Why would skill be associated with it? It's a game used to calm the mind, to give it something familiar to match. How was something as simple as just staring at the cards make it obvious that you dealt something wrong? All fifty-two cards should always cause a win, as there is an even amount of colors, and shuffling usually is never perfect about separating the colors. It has human error. 

They don't, which Wilbur quickly realized when he started to catch on when his games would be losing. His mind slowly acclimating to the rhythmic bridge shuffling of the cards after a game finished, and understanding the placements, the cards he holds, and it starts to make sense.

Solitaire is a game used by those who naturally pick up patterns or just those who have enough time to train the mind. It's why while he is healing, reflecting upon his life, that he picks up the cards. They are familiar, the minimalistic aspect of the aces, the over-the-top queen, king, and jack cards that hold un-phased expressions. It makes him think of when he and Tommy used to hustle kids on the street for their allowances with games of war, of spoons, and of amateur poker. They would snicker as the children continued to play and play, forever losing because they never knew that they cheated. Even when playing in spare time, when waiting for the scraps of the local bakery to be put out next to the garbage, they'd play go fish and poker. He'd never realized how much he'd miss playing cards with his brother, how much he'd miss him, and the times before L'Manberg.

It's probably why when he saw the cards he picked them up and sat down and instead of asking the other residents, and started playing a terribly mediocre game of solitaire. The rules had never stuck to him in life, but Tommy had picked it up quickly from one of the local elderly in the park and had explained it to him, his voice excited and eyes alight. Wilbur thought upon that memory to try and remember the rules, ignoring the underlying feeling of wrongness as he played cards alone. He was used to his game of cards being two-player, never one for being alone. Wilbur even misses the three-player spoons that he, Tommy, and Techno would play in Pogtopia. 

The game was now representing his time alone, his loneliness as he awaits his family in the afterlife, waiting for his player two to join him. He hopes he'll be one hundred years old by the time Tommy joins him, but he has a feeling it will be shortly.

While waiting, though, he has taken to hustling the others in the afterlife with games of competitive solitaire, something that only works in Wilbur's favor because he's finally picked up the intrinsic knowledge of the game, able to tell from just his stack of choosing cards when he will win, and when he will lose. The others don't know the game as well as he does, always losing to him in a docket. Wilbur finds it funny, and uses it to consume his time until his brother joins him, and then he can finally feel at rest with his player two. They'll play go fish and war and hustle the others in poker, and Wilbur will finally be at rest, because he may have gotten well at solitaire, a game meant for one, but he will always have a place in his heart for his player two and the games they grew up with.

It turns out he didn't have to wait long because only a year later he sees his brother, standing, absolutely covered in blood. He packs up his cards quickly and rushes over to him, holding him close to him, "Welcome home, Tommy." His brother just cried into him, and Wilbur let him, whispering affirmations into the blond's ear and telling him about the cards, earning a heart-wrenching chuckle from his brother.

Tommy took a few days to settle down, to finally calm down, and Wilbur was with him every step of the way. If Tommy wanted to rest, he'd play solitaire silently while his brother leaned on him and finally got some shut-eye. If Tommy wanted to silently watch him play, Wilbur would let him rest his head in his lap and let the boy watch his dexterous hands flip the cards with ease. Sometimes Tommy would give him pointers, tell him of a card before Wilbur even got to look at it, and it reminds Wilbur that Tommy still had a lifetime ahead of him in the game, in the patterns, and faces, but Wilbur wasn't annoyed with it. He was happy to have someone who understood it, and understood why it was important, and when Tommy had told him, "You've gotten good, Wilby," he tries to hide the pride on his face but fails to.

When his brother starts to feel better, the darkness upon his limbs finally being just the small aching and not a hindrance upon the boy, they start up the card games, playing like they used to. It was nice, to finally be back with his player two, to be not alone. He was finally complete, a game of solitaire that finally restarted and was given the correct pattern to allow him a win.

It was when his brother disappeared and he shortly felt the pull to life that he knew he was finally going to play the ultimate game of life poker, playing against a god complex, but instead, he turns it into a game of solitaire. He prepares his cards and smiles upon the remains of L'Manberg. 

_Game start._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this very short fic! i promise i will write something a little longer soon i've just been kicked in the ass by school lately and i'm still stress sick. 
> 
> anyways, i've been playing solitaire my whole life so i thought a little perspective of the game and how wilbur was using it to cope with death was something that is interesting. also i suggest if you don't know what war or spoons are, to look them up! they are super fun, i used to play them at summer camp growing up. also spoons with tommy, wilbur, and techno would be the funniest thing i've seen in my life because techno would definitely launch a spoon across the room.


End file.
